


The (Family) Doctor's Appointment

by smleeish



Series: Jason Todd vs The Batfamily (and Activities of Daily Living) [1]
Category: Batman (Comics), Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Adopted Sibling Relationship, Batfamily Feels, Comedy, Father-Son Relationship, Fluff and Angst, Freeform, Gen, Sickfic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-03
Updated: 2015-08-03
Packaged: 2018-04-12 18:18:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4489854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/smleeish/pseuds/smleeish
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jason gets sick when he's dosed with a poisonous drug during a case and grudgingly goes to a walk-in clinic to see the doctor. Waiting for hours in the crowded clinic is torture with its bothersome occupants, and especially when the family catches wind of his ordeal and decide to try and convince him to let them take care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The (Family) Doctor's Appointment

**Author's Note:**

> Warning: Jason's potty mouth, and that's about it.

 

 

It had been a while since Jason last felt civilized enough to emmerse himself in that mysterious subculture vigilantes called, "civilian life." Now that he thought about it, it had been a while since he had puked his guts out so earnestly too, like a sea cucumber acting on self-preservation instincts. Being sick as he was, if Jason were a weaker man he would have pathetically crawled back home to his family by now, whimpering all the way with his tail tucked between his legs. 

Yeah, there was no way  _in hell_  he would ever sink that low. Jason would rather eat his own puked-up guts than ever resort to something as demeaning as  _that_. 

Which finds him in his current situation, sitting in a plastic bucket chair three inches too small for a normal sized rear end, sandwiched between a chubby red-faced child wailing his head off and a creepy old lady who had absolutely no regard for personal space (she kept reaching up to try and touch his face and wouldn't stop  _staring_ ). 

Jason had waited since six o'clock in the morning outside the walk-in clinic around the corner of his apartment to try and avoid the inevitable fuss of a crowded waiting room full of sick and irritable people. But, as with everything in Jason's life, that plan got screwed over rather quickly. First, an employee at the meat shop nearby was rushed in with an ice box and a bloody wrap around his fingers (or where the fingers should be, but were probably sitting snug in the ice box for the time being); then the young couple who lived just down the hall of his complex burst through the door with the wife screaming bloody murder at no one in particular (most likely the husband) and clutching her bloated belly, which had swelled to the size of an exercise ball since the last time he'd seen her. Well, looks like Jason should consider moving out within the next few months. One screaming baby he can handle, but that apartment contract he allegedly signed said nothing about  _two_  of them. 

Being the ( _reluctantly_ ) gracious gentleman that he was, Jason had given up his 'first patient of the day' status and was begrudgingly shoveled into the small waiting room along with all the other sniffling, ailing patients. 

So, why exactly was Jason willingly putting himself through such misery, waiting to see a walk-in clinic doctor, on top of his own miserable condition of excruciating nausea and aching pains all over?

Let's just say that the past week had been a bad one, with shady pharmaceutical companies, dirty politics and a contagious, fake flu vaccine on the market. Two nights ago, Jason had booted the Demon spawn (aka Robin) out of the way of a barrage of tranq shots and had gotten himself pin-cushioned with the nasty stuff. So now, Jason was here, waiting to get a shot of the latest antidote fresh out of the Batcave being distributed to the common people of Gotham City. You get the picture. 

Jason visibly flinched when the kid's wails suddenly turned up three notches to bleeding-ears screeching. 

_Fucking Jesus, someone better get this kid a_  Happy Meal  _right now, or I'll—_

The glass door swung open for the hundredth time that morning. People waiting for the antidote and other minor complaints were already spilling over the sidewalk and their loud chatter floated in through the open doorway. A bland voice addressed him, but to his chagrin it wasn't the nurse. 

"Todd." Damian acknowledged, standing stiffly with his hands folded behind his back, dressed to the nines in his private school uniform. "It has come to my attention that you are unwell after that... debacle the other night. I am here with Pennyworth to take you back to the manor."

Yeah.  _Fuck no_ . And what's more, when had the Batbrat learned to show  _gratitude_  of all things? Did he even know what gratitude  _was?_  They definitely didn't teach that in school, which the kid was obviously soon heading off to attend. 

Jason tilted his head away and tried to focus on a dirty stain in the carpet by the drooping potted plant in the corner through his fevered, hazy vision. It helped to keep him awake and distract him from his protesting stomach making risky backflips at the moment. 

"I'm just gonna pretend you're projecting your favorite big bro Dickiebird on me, kid." His voice came out breathy despite his best effort to keep up appearances. He quickly wiped his face of any pain and lifted his head to glare at the boy. "Don't get any funny ideas just because I saved your pompous ass from a little pinpricking. And don't tell me how ridiculous that sounds, because I know it is and I'm too fucking tired to deal with you right now, so hurry up and  _shoo_."

All the mothers and fathers in the room were giving him the evil eye now for his foul mouth.  _Whatever_ . He's not the one denying that poor screaming kid his  _Happy Meal_. Damian clucked his tongue impatiently.

"- _Tt_ \- if you have enough energy to talk back, then I suppose you are not as significantly ill as I thought."

"Damn right, I'm not."

"Then you must intend to sit here in this stifling clinic for the next several hours instead of receiving immediate medical attention at the manor."

"That's the plan, kid."

The boy scowled at him. "Very well. Your choice, your loss, Todd."

And with that, the young Wayne promptly spun on his heel and marched out the door. 

Well, that was easier than expected. Jason had been prepared to have a pile of insults thrown in his face and maybe even a spiteful attempt to drag him off by force. Lucky for him, the brat didn't seem to be in the fighting mood today. 

But anyways, he estimated three more hours at most until it was his turn. He could wait. It was  _only_  three hours— 

The screaming kid was ripping magazines apart now and suddenly smacked one right in Jason's face with a loud  _fwap_. A wrinkled, withered finger trailed slowly under his chin and that blissfully blank stare smiled up at him. 

Yup.  _Three goddamn hours._

 

* * *

 

Exactly three hours later revealed that Jason's estimate was way off. 

It was about midday and Jason was considering if he felt well enough to scarf down maybe half a chili dog without immediately up-heaving it, bun, beans and all, when some crazy guy bursts into the building with a gun, demanding the clinic give him all the morphine they had. Jason slapped his face and growled in frustration. Well, time to get to work. 

Unfortunately, Jason had to get up slowly from the pain and by the time he'd punched the guy's lights out (literally with a single punch because the guy was just a skinny, deadbeat druggie), the man had ranted about people's rights for recreational drug use for a whole thirty seconds and already shot at a entire cabinet full of the antidote for absolutely no reason at all.  _Shit_. 

Then the police had shown up to arrest the trigger-happy bastard and the nurses had announced that they might not have enough for everyone anymore until tomorrow, thus the families and children would go first—any shots leftover would be for anyone left waiting and everyone else would have to go to another clinic or wait for tomorrow's shipment. 

Well screw that. Jason hadn't wasted half his day here, at this particular clinic, just to drag his dying carcass several blocks over to the next overcrowded doctor's office to get his shot of antidote. After all, this was the only clinic that—

"Jason."

Fuck, not  _again_.

"Checking in with me, Replacement? I'm flattered," Jason preened and molded his face into what he hoped was a smug grin. "Didn't think I was such a high priority on your hit list—"

"What are you doing here, Jason?" Tim cut him off and raised a questioning eyebrow. The unspoken words were,  _What, you're_ still  _here?_

Jason was leaning against the brick wall of the clinic as officers milled about, getting their statements from various witnesses and the nurses went about their business inside. Being the one who had actually knocked the criminal out in front of an enraptured audience, Jason had been hassled outside to give a quick statement (under a fake name of course) and refused an interview with some small-time reporter. Tim had walked through the crowd of people like he owned the place with his hair slicked back in a stylish, untidy wave, sharply dressed in a designer Italian suit, probably a  _Kiton_ , and how exactly Jason knew that fact was completely beyond him at the moment (but made him slightly horrified at what classic Robin training could do to a kid—observation skills and keeping up the rich boy image and all). 

Jason had to applaud himself at how monotone he was able to keep his expression. He only hoped Tim didn't notice the cold sweat sliding down his neck from the effort. "Why do you  _think_  I'm here?" he questioned back, "Hanging out at a medical clinic in the middle of the day to get my daily dose of narcotics? Sure, let's go with that."

Tim sighed, "I thought you'd be back at the manor by now, being doted on by Alfred. Didn't Damian drop by earlier to come get you?"

"Now  _that_  was an unpleasant surprise. Especially when he started acting all civil n'shit. Kid was probably gonna dump my body in a ditch somewhere."

"I'm serious, Jason. You got hit with a dangerous amount of the contaminated serum. By all means, you shouldn't even be standing right now."

"Oh, you give me too much credit. Being a zombie doesn't take as much effort as you think," Jason chuckles patronizingly, which left him gasping for breath afterwards, his chest shaking. He grinned to try and cover it up, but the look on his face came out more of a grimace than a confident smile. "The trick is... in-n the orange juice.... Keeps my immune... system s-stocked up on vitam-min C."

"You're getting worse. Come on, if you won't go back to the manor, I'll take you back to the penthouse."

God, this  _family_. Sucking in his breath and tightening his chest, Jason forced his stuttering down into his gut where it could make friends with his flipping stomach. He purposely slouched all his deadweight against the wall when the smaller man grabbed his arm and tried to pull him off.

Jason answered, "What, and miss out on your important WE meeting with the other snooty bigwigs?" People were starting to stare at them and Tim didn't exactly blend in with the crowd on this side of town. That noob reporter from earlier was looking interestedly in his direction again. Great. Jason shook Tim's grasp off and trudged deliberately for the clinic entrance. 

"Just leave it, Red. I'll take my shots like a good boy, earn my lollipop and stickers and everything will be hunky-dory again in no time."

Tim huffed in exasperation behind him. "Fine. If that's how you want to play it. I'm calling it in."

Jason froze and narrowed his eyes suspiciously at him from over one hunched shoulder. "You wouldn't dare."

"Big Brother won't be too happy to hear about this."

"You little  _fucker_."

"You'll thank me for this later. Have you eaten something yet?"

"Oh, I'll owe you  _something_  for this. And no, I haven't. Not sure if I could hold it in anyways."

"Plain and flavorless it is. How about Chinese food? I've heard rice porridge is great for empty, upset stomachs."

"Hey, you don't have to—"

Tim was already strolling away before Jason could protest, several Wayne Enterprise bodyguards splitting a path through the sea of onlookers for him. Jason shook his head tiredly and slunk back into the crowded waiting room. 

Okay, fine. Let the Replacement buy him food. At least it wasn't Jason's money being wasted in a barf bag. 

As Jason stepped back into the room, he was promptly smacked in the head by a flying plastic fire truck. The screaming kid had upgraded to hurling colorful toys across the room, bellowing at the top of his lungs. And he still didn't know what to do about that creepy old lady and  _holy shit sticks_ , was that  _her fingers_  groping his ass?

Fuck, he should've asked Tim to pick up a  _Happy Meal_  instead. 

 

* * *

 

Tim had come back with the rice porridge as promised, and the two of them ate outside since there was a 'No food and beverage' rule indoors. Which was all well and good, since Jason had a chance to prod the younger teen into admitting that Damian had been the one to demand that Tim check in with Jason while he was at school. Tim of course, ignored the demand and came to check on Jason at his own discretion (and what kind of difference that even made, Jason didn't bother asking him).

The young CEO would have stuck around with Jason all afternoon and play hooky with his business meetings if Jason hadn't have threatened to raid his secret stash of cheesy poofs that even Dick didn't know about.

Speaking of whom—

"Jay."

Oh, for  _Christ's sake,_  can't a guy regurgitate his lunch in peace?

Jason felt a hand at his back as he sat in a corner of the waiting room gagging into the room's tiny waste basket perched between his legs. Unable to stand how stuffy the place had become as the day wore on, he had stripped off his jacket and tied it around his waist. Over the past several hours, only five out of the dozen or so families present had been called in by the nurse (and tantrum kid was still bellyaching away to his useless parents.  _Bellyaching_. Fuck, shouldn't have thought about th—), and now, Jason was seriously considering locking himself in the single-stall washroom down the hall to re-acquaint his face with the toilet bowl.

When Jason finally pulled his head out of the garbage can, gasping for air, Dick pressed his other hand to Jason's forehead and wiped away his sweaty, white fringe. There was a ten second delay in Jason's thought processes as he leaned into the feel of cool skin above his eyes before he jerked out of his daze and managed to swat the older man's hands away with a scowl on his face.

"Don't be like that, Jay," Dick chastised. The frown he gave him was disapproving, which made Jason feel like a misbehaving child. Even more-so since Dick was in his police uniform, and what the hell was a Bludhaven cop doing in Gotham at this time of day? "I'm not gonna tell you how stupid this is, since you're obviously in much worse condition than anyone else here. But, I will say that you're an idiot for not doing something about it by now. Your running a high fever and by all means, you should be in a hospital right now."

"I didn't ask for your advice, Dickface," Jason retorted. "I can take care of myself."

"Not like this you can." Dick hauled him up when Jason made a move to try and stand and Jason grudgingly let him since he didn't have the energy anymore to push him away (or punch him in the face. He'd much prefer to have enough energy to do  _that_ ).

Dick maneuvered Jason back over to one of the rows of plastic chairs where one person graciously gave up his seat for him. 

"I don't get why you came here in the first place," Dick said. "You disappeared before either of us could haul you back to the cave to administer the antidote for you. All you had to do was wait—"

"I've spent more than half my life, and  _afterlife,_ waiting for a fucking miracle. And none of you,  _any of you_ , were there when I needed it most. So what makes you think I need it now?" Jason locked eyes with the former Robin.

"Jay—"

" _Stop calling me that_ . I'm not waiting for  _you_. Not anymore."

And with that, Jason winced and slowly curled over his knees and the pain flaring in his gut, effectively ending the conversation. Dick said nothing else. He stood there, in front of Jason's hunched over form for a long while until the kind, old lady sitting next to Jason insisted on him taking her seat.

For the next couple hours, Dick sat vigilantly next to Jason as several more families were called in, including the poor kid who'd been crying the whole time for his parents attention through the sickly discomfort of the contaminated vaccine. At some point, he'd tentatively lifted his hand to Jason's back again, rubbing slow circles into the sweat-soaked shirt giving off heat like a furnace. Jason made no movement to stop him, nor did he acknowledge it. By the time the nurse came out to announce the clinic would be staying open after hours to accommodate the number of people still waiting for their turn, the sun was already setting in flashes of red and gold across the Gotham skyline. Dick's phone beeped and he reluctantly pulled it out to check his messages.

"I've gotta go, Jason. There's a hostage situation downtown—"

" _Go_ ," Jason replied immediately, the first word he'd said in hours. His voice was raspy, throat feeling bloated like his head at the moment.

Dick stood up, but didn't lift his hand just yet from Jason's back. He squeezed one trembling shoulder. "I'll be back, I promise. If I'm not, than I'll get one of the others to come back and make sure you're all right."

Jason waved his hand dismissively in response. Dick hesitatingly turned around and finally pushed his way out the door.

Just as the door swung close, Jason looked up to see Dick's retreating form still visible through the glass only to be replaced by the sight of the screaming kid (not screaming anymore) and his parents walking by on the sidewalk. The kid was still red in the face and teary-eyed after having gotten his shot, but was now contently squeezed between his parents, holding a  _Happy Meal_  toy in one hand. And Jason just realized that it had been a while since he'd last felt that creepy lady's caressing fingers...

Maybe he could finally wait to see the doctor without anymore pokes and prods from his annoying family.

Maybe.

 

* * *

 

Jason's beeping phone broke him out of his fever-induced haze and he fumbled through his pockets in confusion, lolling his head forward to try and get his eyes to focus on the screen. The text message read:

_Black Bat: You are an idiot._  

Jason quickly fumbled with the phone's keyboard with shaking fingers. In his reply, he wrote:

_Red Hood: Nothing new there, prince._

_Black Bat: You mean, 'princess'._

_Red Hood: Exactly. Dam autocorrect._

_Black Bat: Go home._

_Red Hood: I gone say non you can't make my._

He already pressed 'send' before he noticed how badly he had botched up that last text through his semi-consciousness. _Fudging, stupid headache_ . He couldn't  _think_ or even _swear_ coherently at this point,  _what the bejeebus_. Jason let his head clunk against the wall behind him as he waited for Cass' reply, if she could even interpret his gibberish. A few minutes later, his phone beeped again.

_Black Bat: He is worried about you._

Jason may be borderline delirious at the moment, but he wasn't so far gone as to reply to that last line. He didn't even bother.

Instead, he slumped sideways over the now empty row of plastic chairs, did his best to let his mind drift elsewhere and wonder when he could finally see the goddamn doctor.

 

* * *

 

The waiting room was practically empty when Bruce stepped into the clinic around ten o'clock in the evening. 

He would have been on patrol by now if he hadn't have had another pressing matter to take care of, one he had been hesitating to step in and  handle since the moment The Red Hood had saved Robin from getting shot with a dose of the noxious vaccine that would have definitely been fatal to the smaller boy. It wasn't that Bruce didn't  _want_ to take care of his wayward son—on the contrary, he wanted nothing more than to wrestle the stubborn young man into submission and drag him back to the manor himself where he could be properly cared for. But, as always, Bruce would hesitate when it came to Jason. Because Jason had the right to refuse him, had the right to wait to see a doctor, to get his treatment at a cramped, walk-in clinic like every other normal citizen in Gotham, if that was what he wanted. Because Bruce had already failed him once before, and sometimes Bruce wondered if perhaps Jason's life (his  _second chance_  at life) would be better without him intervening in it.

A quick glance around the room revealed Jason's unconscious form lying across the uncomfortable-looking, standard waiting room bench. Bruce would have swiftly went to Jason's side to check his vitals if he hadn't faltered in surprise by the sight of an elderly lady gently combing her fingers steadily through Jason's hair, whose lap Jason was currently using as a makeshift pillow. The woman lifted a wrinkled finger to her lips in a shushing gesture at him, her other hand continuing its rhythmic brushing.

"He's fine," she assured him. "Just sleeping it off. But, the poor lad is unwell still."

Bruce moved forward and leaned down to relieve the lady of her burden. "I know. Thank you for watching over him, madam."

"Oh, don't thank me. Thank his siblings for checking in with him all day. The boy kept giving up his place in line to the next poor soul waiting to get their shot of medicine, bless his soul. I only wonder why you didn't come sooner to pick up your son."

"... He's an adult now. It's not my place—"

"All children grow up sooner or later, and always before the parents are ready to let them leave. Some try to deny it, cling to their children and smother them with love. Others distance themselves out of fear for their children's scorn, not wanting to risk the loss of their affection. Which one are you?"

For once, Bruce wasn't sure how to respond. He looked down at Jason's face, tight lines of pain etched across his brow as he leaned against Bruce's shoulder with half his body still lying on the bench.

"I was a doctor here, many years ago before I retired," she continued, helping to move Jason onto Bruce's back as the larger man hooked his arms under his legs and lifted him up in a piggyback. "His mother used to take the two of them here and I would give them free flu shots since she couldn't afford the insurance. The boy hated needles, but he told me himself I was the only doctor he would ever trust to give him his shot."

Bruce wordlessly walked across the room with his son safely perched on his back. He paused at the door and turned to face the elderly doctor, as if he knew she had a few last words to say to him.

"Take care of him," she said.

Bruce nodded his head. "I will," was all he promised before he disappeared out the door to take his son home.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> I was meaning for this one-shot to be all lighthearted and fluffy as a break from my other story I'm currently writing, _Pie in the sky_ , but obviously things didn't turn out as planned. =(
> 
> Anywho, this is my gift to the internet since I'm going to be busy in the next few weeks and won't be able to update my other work - FYI if you are a reader of my other story! I will get back on track as soon as I can, in the meantime, hope you enjoyed this little side project.
> 
> Cheers =)


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